Words I Don't Really Mean
by Quasi-Princess Of Darkness
Summary: A glimpse at what happens immediately following HBP. SPOILER ALERT! Snape's P.O.V. “This life is Hell, Voldemort is the Devil, and once a man sells his soul, he cannot get it back ...”


**Rating:** M to be safe. No kiddies allowed. There's some pretty dark stuff in here. And a few slashy moments, but nothing terribly explicit.

**Summary:** What happens immediately following HBP (SPOILER ALERT) from Snape's P.O.V.: "This life is Hell, Voldemort is the Devil, and once a man sells his soul, he cannot get it back ..."

**Disclaimer:** Not Mine. Don't bother Suing. I'm a poor college student. The characters all belong to the lovely and brilliant and filthy rich J. K. Rowling.

**Words I Don't Really Mean**

I was gasping for breath when I finally heard Hogwarts' gates magically slam shut behind me. Without hesitating, I grabbed young Malfoy by the arm and turned on the spot. For that one fraction of a second before the apparition, I caught a glimpse of the chaos behind those gates and the school beyond. I hadn't run that fast since my time as a student there. Then it had been a result of the cruel antics of James Potter and his blasted cronies. Now it was all because of Potter's damned offspring, in a roundabout way.

As I feel myself being flattened and contorted, the thought briefly crosses my mind that this is mostly _my_ fault. If I hadn't told Lord Voldemort about that prophesy when…

But I am jolted back to the present as I reach my destination with a loud _crack_. My surroundings are familiar, but I find them no less disturbing than in my first visit many years ago. The air is just as hot and sticky, the lights just as dim. It makes you feel as if you are standing in a jungle, despite the lavish furniture in royal shades of purple and gold surrounding you.

Suddenly I am once again made aware of the boy still clutching my wrist. He is trembling slightly, and I can understand why. He has never visited the Master's estate before, much less his personal bedchamber. Most likely never even seen his face. Well, there must be a first time for everything. His already pale face has gone white, but not as white as that of Lord Voldemort, who sits before us perched in an overstuffed armchair like a king upon his throne and smiling _that_ smile. Now it is _I_ who have the sudden urge to tremble, but I fight it. Showing signs of fear or resistance will only make what is surely to come even worse.

Instead, I opt to relate the night's events to the Dark Lord, but before I can even open my mouth, I feel his presence in my mind. He grins like a tiger as he mentally prowls through the jungles of my deepest thoughts. It isn't the first time. He is an accomplished Legilimens, after all. But during my time at Hogwarts, I have become an even better Occlumens. As he probes my mind, I show him only what he needs to see: the dark mark, the Death Eaters, Dumbledore's fall…But I hide everything else: my fear, my hatred of him, my plans. He is so delighted by what he has found, he fails to notice the thoughts that are forbidden him. He almost hisses when he finally speaks.

"Very good, Severus. Very good." He's out of the chair now. Moving toward me. His movements are graceful, nearly seductive but for his inhuman features, which have lit up at the news of Dumbledore's fall. He stands before me, his eyes staring into mine. Or perhaps through them. He runs the long fingers of one hand through my hair, brushing a few stray strands out of my eyes and tucking them neatly behind my ear. For the moment he does not appear angry that young Malfoy has disobeyed orders and not performed the deed himself. Perhaps it is enough that the boy discovered how to sneak his henchmen into the school. Or perhaps he needs time to think of a suitable punishment.

He's still staring into my soul. Leaning in close. Whispering in my ear sweet promises of rewards. As good an actor as I am, it is difficult not to shrink back at his words. I learned a long time ago that with the Dark Lord, there is a _very_ thin line between reward and torture. I shake my wrist until Draco lets go of it. I mentally will him to leave. To run. To…no. It won't matter. Voldemort has ways of finding people. Instead, the boy backs into a corner of the room, unable to take his wide eyes off of the spectacle that is to unfold before him. I close my eyes, and…

It begins.

I feel dry, cool lips brush against my own as long, nimble fingers work their way under my robes. I feel the cold of his hands through the thin material of my shirt. Sharpened fingernails snap off buttons One. By. One. I finally allow myself to shiver as my shirt falls open and those cold hands slide gently from navel to collarbone. The boy is still watching. Damn. As if this wasn't humiliating enough…

My eyes are still closed. I can't bear to look at him. Those lips are moving now, tracing their way leisurely along the line of my jaw…the curve of my neck. Gentle kisses are interspersed with little flicks of his snake-like tongue.

"Mmm…"

I can't stop the little moan of pleasure as it escapes me. I've closed myself off from everything to spare myself the humiliation…everything but the feel of him. And right now, it's good. Very good. Until…

"Ahh…sss!"

I suck in air through clenched teeth as gentle kisses are replaced by sharp pain. I should know by now. It's how he's always been. He starts out all lips, tongue, and fingertips and just as soon as he knows he has you, becomes all tooth and nail. He finally slips my robes and shirt off of my shoulders and onto the floor. He wraps his arms around me and presses my body to his. I feel the warmth of blood mingling with my own cold sweat as his nails dig into my shoulder blades. I'm wide-eyed now. He covers my mouth with his own, muffling my cries of pain with a forceful kiss.

The sweat running down my forehead is mingling with the tears streaming down my cheeks, but the worst is yet to come. The violent kiss ends. I can taste blood. He backs away from me, but I know the torment is far from over. With him, it's not about emotion. It's not even about the pleasure. It's about control. Dominance. It's been that way since he was a child, living in a Muggle orphanage. The stories have been whispered in my ear a thousand times. Stories told in graphic detail of luring fellow orphans into caves by the sea and doing unspeakable things with them – _to_ them – until the light innocence was drained from their little eyes permanently. They were the first to suffer like this, but not the last. All of us – the Death Eaters – have endured it long and often. Except for Bellatrix. Her first time was also her last. Torture is no fun when the victim _enjoys_ it.

His robes join mine on the floor. He's smiling that damned smile at me again. Those red eyes are all but glowing. In a fleeting moment of madness I imagine that they remind me of the Christmas lights Muggles string up around their homes every year. I am quickly brought back to reality, however, as I hear something incomprehensible hissed at me. Sometimes, when he becomes excited, the Dark Lord slips into Parseltongue without realizing it, and my lack of understanding is taken for defiance. The eyes are angry now.

"On. Your. Knees." he reiterates, practically spitting out each word, and this time I understand. And I obey. I hate myself for what I do next. For what I've done countless times before. But better to suffer this than one or more of the unforgivable curses. And _not_ just the three the Ministry knows about. There _are _punishments worse than death. I am momentarily relieved when I notice that Voldemort's eyes are no longer focused on me, until I notice what – no, _who_ -- his attention has turned to. Malfoy. The trembling child in the corner. The _fresh meat_.

When it's all over, when he's finally through with me, the hand that rested so gently on the back of my skull grabs a handful of hair and shoves me painfully and unceremoniously to the ground. I look up at him, still breathing hard. Wishing that acrid taste out of my mouth. "Go." is all he says.

As he turns away, I notice a small lock of greasy black hair wrapped tightly in his fingers. He always _did_ love trophies.

I glance at Draco as I start to climb to my feet. He's terrified now. Until this year, I've always been his favorite teacher. Someone to look up to, who always took his side. _What do you see _now,_ Draco?_ I think to myself . _An old man lying in the floor, half naked and vulnerable? _I manage a sneer in his direction as I finally stand, wiping an arm across my mouth to clear away the blood that's been dripping from it since my "Master" pierced my tongue with his teeth. _The show is over. The actor has broken character mid-performance. So sorry to disappoint._ He never speaks as I leave the room, not even bothering to retrieve my robes. He quickly and silently leaves the Master's bedchambers. For the moment, I neither know nor care where he's gone.

Moments later, in the room which has served as my quarters whenever I found myself in the Dark Lord's home, I sit in a chair in front of an empty fireplace. With a flick of my wand, a fire blazes to life in front of me. Its warmth is welcome after those cold hands…

I'm not sure why I keep letting him do it to me. Since my earlier illusions of gaining power and glory through him were shattered, the answer has always been _to stay alive_, but what is the _point_ anymore, really? Even if the Order _was_ successful in disposing of Voldemort permanently, I could never lead a peaceful life after what I'd done tonight and, honestly, working so hard to stay on Voldemort's good side no longer seemed worth the pain. I have never been particularly attracted to Muggle religion, but some part of me knows that this life is Hell, Voldemort is the Devil, and once a man sells his soul, he cannot get it back no matter how fervently he repents.

But my mind wanders elsewhere. It seems like something from a past life, but I remember holding Narcissa Malfoy's hand and making an Unbreakable Vow. I promised to protect her son, or else I would…but the consequence seems less frightening now, and more inviting. I look at the wand that dangles from my right hand in a loose grip and raise it to eye-level. It's such a small thing, yet is capable of so much, from making a feather float to taking a life.

…taking a life…

I lazily rest the tip of my wand (Fifteen inches. Dragon heartstring core. "But be careful," Ollivander warned me so long ago. "It's good for charm work, but is quite capable of producing powerful curses.") to my right temple. _Time to get it over with, you coward._

"Avada Ke—"

"No!"

Draco Malfoy stands before me. Any trace of the confidence and bravado he once practically _oozed_ has completely disappeared to be replaced with complete and utter terror. There are tears streaming down his face. His breathing is loud and shallow. I must have been too lost in my own thoughts to hear him come in.

"Don't. Please. Not after…not after Mum."

_Ooh. The plot thickens._

"Excuse me?" I reply, raising an eyebrow and never moving my wand.

"I got an owl from her at school. Dad…she said Voldemort gave everyone in Azkaban to the Dementors…Mum said she couldn't take it anymore. She was too scared. She said that…that she loved me and that _you_ would look after me. That you had made an Unbreakable Vow. I think…I think she did the same thing _you_ were about to do. Please…I can't handle losing _everyone_."

Well, that explained why he had seemed to become more and more pale and sickly throughout the year. And here I'd thought it was nerves brought on from Voldemort's task. He'll be coming of age soon, and he's never looked more helpless and childlike than right now.

Never having been really consoled by another human being during my life's more traumatic moments, I'm not exactly sure how he expects me to do it now, but the look in his eye practically _pleads_ for some sort of comfort. I let out a sigh and open my arms to him. Without hesitation, he climbs into my lap and buries his tear-streaked face into my bare chest. I am unused to the feeling of a warm body against mine. In any other situation, I may have found it pleasant.

Between sobs the boy says he misses his mum and dad, says he's afraid Voldemort will do to him what he's done to me. And I know he's absolutely right. The boy is weak. As weak as his dead mother and his now-soulless abomination of a father. He won't last here. I was foolish to make that promise, a promise I knew I would be unable to keep. Maybe some part of me thought it would never go this far. Eventually, the sound of his sobs become more and more unbearable. Perhaps I envy him for being able to let out all the feelings I have been forced to hold inside since before he was born.

I continue my efforts to comfort him. I cup his trembling jaw in my left hand and lift it until his eyes meet mine. I whisper soothing words I don't really mean. I know I can no longer protect him. That vow _will _be broken tonight, but Narcissa's son will not have to endure what I – and yes, his father and mother, too – have.

His light grey eyes –now made red from his tears – are still staring at me, telling me that he wants nothing more than to believe that I will protect him from harm. But I am not a protector. Nor a father figure. Nor anything else he wants me to be. I am a Death Eater. A heartless bastard, a slimy git, and everything else the Potter brat has ever called me behind my back. I know only one way to solve problems and, at this moment, my biggest problem is curled up in my lap and sobbing like an infant. I keep his eyes focused on mine as I raise the now-shaky hand that still grips my wand a little too tightly. He becomes completely still and silent when he feels the tip of it run gently through his hair. He knows what is coming. Clever boy. But it is too little, too late.

I never need to open my mouth. _FLASH. _The fear in his eyes is replaced with a blank, lifeless expression as the incantation for the killing curse runs through my mind. He goes limp in my arms. There. It's over. For both of us. Draco –no, not Draco any longer – the _body_ still lies limply in my arms as I let myself slouch into the chair and wait for the pain to take me. The death resulting from a broken Unbreakable Vow is rarely a quick one, and is _always_ excruciating. But Merlin knows it's no less than I deserve.

I wait. And Wait. But the pain never comes. Soon enough, I come to a startling realization: the Vow _hasn't been_ broken. Death, it seems, was preferable to anything this child may have experienced at the hands of Voldemort himself. I had unwittingly kept my promise by taking care of him the best way I knew how.

This is too much for my tired mind to handle all at once. At this point, after everything, I am both mentally and physically exhausted. My thoughts are starting to blur and no longer make sense. Malfoy's eyes are still open, still pleading with me not to leave him. So instead of pushing him to the floor and turning to the comfort of my own bed, I settle into the chair and hold him closer to me, clutching his still-warm body like a Muggle child clutches a favorite teddy bear. _Now who's the child?_ I ask myself, wrapping the thick material of his robe's sleeve around the fingers of one hand, holding onto it like a security blanket. _Perhaps I've finally gone mad_, I muse as I rest my cheek against his silky hair. _Or perhaps_ I let the drowsiness wash over me. _for the first time in my wretched life_ I let my heavy eye lids droop and finally close. _I have done something right._


End file.
